


Cemetery Drive

by greenteasunsets



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, The Academy Is...
Genre: Character Death, Eating Disorders, M/M, SAD VERY SAD, Suicide, help???, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27550648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenteasunsets/pseuds/greenteasunsets
Summary: And it’s better off this way.
Relationships: William Beckett/Gabe Saporta
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Cemetery Drive

Time really is sacred. 

Especially when it could get cut off at any moment.

And you don't know how little of it you have with someone until they're gone.

I pick at the decaying grass below me, twisting and ripping out each little fragile piece.

The air around me is cold and the sky is grey. Even when the sun is shining, everything feels grey. Grey and blue.

It feels like I've been sitting in a deep, dark hole for the past 53 days, exact.

Maybe this is what it's like to be him. Or, atleast, how he was.

There hasn't been a day where I haven't come to his grave and stayed for 3 hours, 5 at most. Just sulking and missing him.

I can't help but feel like it was my fault. I didn't get him the help he needed. I didn't see the signs until I heard the roll of a pill bottle.

The worst part of it all is that I can't rewind time.

I can't go back and tell him it'd be okay even one more time. I can't hold him again. I can't feel the softness of his pale skin. I can't feel his lips against mine. I can't get his smell out of my sheets. I can't get his blood spilled on the white tile out of my mind. The look on his face. The way he trembled in my arms. No pulse. Nothing. Cold eyes and even colder hands.

I haven't been getting better but maybe that's just because I've been listening to the stupid fucking voicemails he'd always leave me or looking through pictures of him in my camera roll, desperately trying to remember his face so I don't ever forget it.

Not like I would. I'm pretty sure it's engraved in my brain forever and not the way I'd like to remember it, either.

_"Gabe, please, please, it hurts so bad, so fucking bad. Really bad. Come home. Please."_

_"It hurts."_

_"Gabe, Gabe, the bleeding won't stop. It's everywhere. I'm so sorry."_

_"I didn't mean to."_

_"Don't be mad at me, please, I'm so sorry."_

I didn't get home fast enough.

Maybe if I drove faster.

Maybe if I didn't spend so long panicking and telling him It'd be okay when I knew it wouldn't be.

When I did get home, he was barely breathing. His eyes were dull and he only said my name over and over and over as I knelt beside him, waiting for the ambulance to come.

I tried to make him throw up the pills but it was still too late to save him.

All I needed was time.

For the first few weeks I didn't talk to anyone. Or leave my room for that matter. 

They acted like they understood but I knew everyone was judging me. 

They didn't have to see their boyfriend's body go limp. They didn't get covered in blood. They don't wake up every night in a cold sweat screaming 'William' or 'I'm sorry'.

Why couldn't I save him?

Tears trickle out of my eyes. 

I lift my index finger up to the gravestone, resting it over the 'W'.

I slowly trace down, shaking. He wouldn’t stop shaking.

_"I'm not in the mood to eat."_

_"I'm not that skinny."_

_"I look so fat."_

_"Why do you care so much?"_

_"Gabe. Gabe, please. Please. It hurts so bad."_

So fucking stupid.

I didn't pick up on any of it.

I didn't take a second to think about why his breath smelled like throw up or how fast he was losing weight.

And how he would soon give up on me and everyone else.

Now I'm left with a block of cold stone to stare at and a faint scent in my apartment to remember him by.

Or every time I've held a gun to my head and told myself that I'd pull it and put myself out of the pain of him being gone, but instead dropping it to the floor and sobbing for hours.

Maybe one day I'll get better. Move on. Maybe even fall in love again. 

Or maybe I won't. I'll be a slave to the corpse of him until I die of old age or a bullet to the head. 

Either way, I’m still going to be scarred and left with his blood hidden in the cracks of my fingers.

I miss him.

And he’ll never be alive again.

**Author's Note:**

> hi! sorry for that. i am a sad person and i need a way to release it. have a good night/day/morning <3


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